


Royal Bastard

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Steel and Roses [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Confessions, Courtship, F/M, Love Confessions, Revelations, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Esmé Cousland helps Alistair reunite with his sister Goldanna in Denerim, Alistair confesses to Esmé that he's not just a Grey Warden. Of course, as a Cousland, a noble of Ferelden, his revelation carries connotations for her as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Bastard

Three days after Alistair kissed me, we arrived at the outskirts of Denerim. The three days dragged as I was left to wonder what in the world was happening inside Alistair’s head, and inside mine as well. The man acted as if no kiss had ever taken place, and I was too confused to bring up the topic. Alistair was happy, speaking to me as he had before, so I knew he wasn’t upset or regretting the display of affection. Eventually I forced myself to stop thinking on the subject, and became lost in conversation with other members of our party.

As we entered the central market square of the city, Alistair turned towards me and caught my elbow, urging me to wait. We let the others pass us by, each of them eager to get a bath or a bellyful at the inn.

“I need to talk to you,” he said rather gravely.

“Right now?” I asked, eyeing the dozens of people around us.

“Eh, no, but,” he turned, looking for something. “There’s a courtyard in front of the chantry. Looks mostly empty.”

“Alright,” I consented, and we walked to the grassy area that boasted several benches, thankfully. My feet groaned in misery. “Ohh, thank the Maker,” I murmured as we sat. It took all I had not to whip off my boots and beg Alistair for a foot massage.

Once seated, Alistair fiddled with his bracers, scratching the skin underneath. “It’s too damned hot today,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure it’s not the weather you wanted to talk about,” I noted.

“No. No….” He sighed, and turned to me. “Can you keep a secret?”

I chuckled. “If I weren’t so tired I would have said something smart in response to that…. But, yes,” I nodded, “of course I can.”

“Alright,” he nodded as well, once, and commenced staring at the ground. “You know I grew up in Redcliffe, in the chantry, yes?”

“Yes."

“And before that, for a time, Arl Eamon took care of me.”

“Yes.”

“Well… the reason… that Eamon took me in, at first,” Alistair wiped his brow, “was because he knew my father well. Very well.”

“You were orphaned?” I assumed.

“No, no. Unacknowledged, rather.”

“Oh.” I knew full well what that meant. “And your mother?”

“A serving girl at Redcliffe Castle. She died when I was very young, so I had no one else and Eamon didn’t want to send me to an orphanage.”

“And this sister of yours? Why did you not grow up with her?”

“Well… _that_ is why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, alright.”

“It just occurred to me that eventually this business might… _fall_ out of someone’s mouth and you’d hear it and just… I don’t know… yell? I made sure that Bann Teagan didn’t mention it when we were in Redcliffe, though he’s smart enough not to just say it.”

“Say what, Alistair?”

“Alright,” he sighed, and took a deep breath. “Arl Eamon took me in because he is Cailan’s uncle, through his sister, Queen Rowan.”

“This is not news, Alistair.”

“Yes, well I’m getting to that part, aren’t I?” He sighed again, and continued. “Eamon took me in… because… I… am… the bastard son of King Maric. Cailan’s half-brother, as it is.”

Finished speaking, Alistair bit his lower lip, eyeing me as if he just said something awful and regretted it. I wasn’t sure what expression I was making, because I was completely dumbfounded.

My lips began to move, and I knew I was making some sort of sound, likely stammering or voicing other some-such nonsensicals. I then felt as if I had been kicked in the abdomen. Needing air, I stood from the bench and tugged at my cuirass straps, desiring nothing more than to rip the heavy metal off. _Why_ I was having such a drastic reaction, I didn’t know. I couldn’t really think, in that moment.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked from the bench.

“I, um….” I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I was alright, why I couldn’t think. “Why…?” I started, beginning to pace. “Why… did you tell me?” I faced Alistair. “Why _just_ me? Why now? I—”

“I have my reasons,” he answered, standing. He approached me, and placed his hands on my shoulders. He pressed down somewhat, a move that I knew was meant to help steady my breathing. “I wanted _you_ to know… because… well, like I said, it might come out eventually from someone else… and….” He sighed again. He sighed a lot, actually. “I figured it better you know now, rather than later, in case… we…. Well, remember that rose I gave you?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it was not a ‘peace offering’. I meant it as… an… opening. No, that’s not the right word. An announcement… that I intend to…,” he scratched his neck, “court you.”

I swallowed hard. “Court me.”

“Yes. Court you. All proper and traditional. Well… not so traditional seeming we’ve already kissed… but…. Yes. Is… that alright?”

My head was swimming. In desperate need of sitting again, I headed back to the bench and plopped myself down. All at once, my brain was being bombarded by information. Not just information, but information with strong connotations and implications.

Firstly, Alistair wanted to court me. I had guessed as much, but now it was official. The idea was not at all objectionable, and was not the reason I was still struggling to breathe properly. The news that Alistair was a _prince of Ferelden_ , by blood at least, struck me like a warhammer to the gut because of what that could mean if he and I ended up together, as a couple, married. If I had been anyone else, a commoner, an elf even, _anything_ but a noblewoman, I might not have given two shits about the implications.

No. I was a Cousland. By blood, a noble of Ferelden and possibly the only living heir to the Teyrnship of Highever. Though I was jumping to conclusions about Alistair’s revelation on _many_ levels, my brain decided the implications needed to be addressed, right here, right now.

Finally, I looked up at Alistair, who appeared as nervous as always.

“Did you,” I began, “did you tell me this because… you wanted me to know that you’re a prince? Because of who I am?”

“What? No. No, no,” he insisted, waving his hands as he sat beside me again. “I told you because I want to be honest with you. About everything. I don’t like secrets… not between me and those I care about. Duncan knew, which was the main reason he wouldn’t let me join the front line at Ostagar. What I am, the blood I carry, never _meant_ anything to me. I don’t tell everyone, because it doesn’t matter. At all. But _they_ might think it matters and would start treating me differently. I don’t want that. I’m just a Grey Warden. That’s it.  And you, too. Yes, I know _who_ you are, and so does everyone else. Your family name is _not_ why I’m telling you this, and it’s certainly not why I—care… for you.”

I was blushing. I knew I was. “But, Alistair,” my voice was but a whisper, “Cailan’s dead.” My eyes carried the meaning behind me stating the obvious.

“Yes, I’m well aware of what you’re thinking, but no, _not_ going to happen. Anora is doing _just fine_ as Queen, and we have much more important things to do than squabble over a throne.”

I nodded, slowly. “Agreed.”

“So… now that _that’s_ over… shall we to the inn? I think I need a drink.”

“Yes, _please_.”


End file.
